Its another morning in Mae Sai, Thailand, and yes, its another rude awakening by a makeshift speaker system mounted on a telephone pole, sending out screechy waves of thai music to alert the bleary eyed public that it is in fact, morning, and a new day is at hand.
There’s no sense in sleeping through this, I couldn’t even if I wanted to, So I wake up with a smile on my face dispite the annoying crackle of nonsensicle jabbering and dispite the fact the first thing I see when I open my eyes is our hotel room roof with cracks spawning out like spider webs right above my head, threatening to cave in at any moment. I let out a sigh of relief that it didn’t kill me in the night and got prepared for the day.
I walk out the door today with a heavy heart. Its our last day here in the city I have grown to love and after 3 weeks, admist the craziness and bustle of thousands of people, a city even as strange as this can really grow on you, especially when its full of incredible people that have shaped the way you live life now.
I head out into the streets that by now feel like home, and I start making my way to the Drop in Centre that we have been helping out with for the last 2 weeks. I walk past the same street vendors down the same narrow streets ( that smell slightly of rotten eggs) that I could now navigate with my eyes closed.
Wafts of smoke leech into the streets and disappear into the air, closely followed by a strong smell of curry or whatever was on that day. Admist the dense crowd, from the corner of my eye I see the lazy rotation of plastic bags floating above the fresh meat displayed on the table that morning to ward off flies and other pests. Soon after my eye catches a scooter that effortlessly dodges in an out of the busy crowd, I quickly step aside, with it narrowly missing my arm by half an inch. No one seems bothered by the fact that there are scooters dodging about nearly killing a bunch of forigners. So why should I be? I continue on.
I reach the Buddist shrine we pass everyday that is “convienently” placed right in the middle of the street. A man is inside lighting some incense, he gets down on his knees and flattens his face on the dirty floor with his hands together above his forehead. Such reverence couldn’t be seen anywhere but here. My gaze breaks from this sight, I’m distracted because I start to hear the screeches of kids in the distance I quicken my pace, eager to be greeted by the most gorgeous smiles I have ever seen once I turn around the the corner.
The first time I stepped foot in this building was 2 weeks ago. never in my life have I been somewhere and fallen 100% in love with it in the first 5 minutes. This is no ordinary drop in centre. Inside these walls are dozens of beggar kids with dozens of stories of heart break who either live a life on the streets, or live in a neighboring country called Burma ( Myanmar ) and have to sneak over the Thai border everyday in order to beg.
They come here every day for a safe place to be in the morning and a free meal at lunchtime. After they get a good meal they are back to the streets to beg for the rest of the day, they fear to come home empty handed because if they don’t come back with a certain amount of money, a good majority of them face verbal and most often. physical abuse by their families. They are driven into the streets by their parents who force there kids to support their raging drug addiction of the popular Opium or various methamphetamines. some kids are also controlled by mafia gangs, caught up in organized and complex begging rings.
The longer I have been here my love for these kids have only grown. despite our obvious communication barrier we found ways around it. Almost like clockwork, every time I would come up the steps. the kids would greet me with shrieks, giggles and laughter, and grabby hands squirming their way through my backpack to dig out the precious gold inside. My camera.
Man do these kids like taking photos, literally all day thats all they will do. I would come home sometimes with hundred and hundreds of photos to go through, their gift to me.
Another affective way to express love to these kids was hugs, and lots of them.
The first couple days once I got to know the kids, I would chase, hug, tackle anyone and everyone. There were a few kids who were a bit stand offish and shy when you tried to give them a hug. I didn’t think too much of it at the start, not knowing their story and where they had come from, not knowing alot of them have come from a background of abuse ( they had an understanding that thats the way westerners show affection, so they weren’t mad at us for it, just not used to it ) I vowed I would win them over by the time we left.
One of them specifically being the sweetest little boy ever. He was a very tiny boy, about 6 or 7 years old and was very malnourished. He has a slender face and big eyes and every time I would run my hand along his back my fingers found the indents of where his ribs were, If I went slow enough I would be able to count each and every one.
The first day he had come he was really shy towards us, I immediatly was drawn to him for some reason and started paying attention to him, trying to get him to play games. He would often flash a brilliant smile for a second, but just as fast as the smile came he would put his head down, hiding his face, too shy to make eye contact for too long. No matter how many times he did this I was determined to befriend him, sneaking in a side hug here and there.
The week went by and everyday I would be intentional in showing this kid a little bit of love. Each day gaining a bit of trust but still not getting much response, I would sit beside him and find him inching away to keep his distance, and I would make him bracelets only to find the next day they were missing.
Today was something special though. Maybe he knew that we were leaving that day, or maybe it was the fact we got to go into Burma the previous day and visited his house. But today he came up to me with a giant smile, stood in front of my legs and forced my arms around him. After a little while of me being in shock at the fact he actually initiated physical contact in any form. He turned around with his boney arms outstretched towards me, eyes wide and a brilliant smile, signaling me to pick him up.
Again I was awestruck and quickly swooped him up into my arms. Tears started forming in my eyes when he wrapped his legs around my waist, his arms around my neck and nuzzled his face into my neck, not loosening his suprisingly tight grip for at least 5 minutes.
I put him down after a little while and he would come back every couple of minutes, and would stand in front my legs again and grab my hands, or signal for another hug and run off to play again.
My hard work to show this kid a little bit of love paid off. Even though we didn’t have the privlidge of verbal communication, it changed me in ways I never expected.
Saying goodbye to him and the other kids in that place was one of the hardest things iv had to do. They stole a bit of my heart and now that im back in Australia, I find they are constantly on my mind. One day I think ill go back, but ill forever treasure the moments I got to spend with them.
Yes, its a puppy in a frisbee, be jealous
